


Then there were three

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Childbirth, F/M, Family Feels, Parenthood, labor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 22 of the Mapmaker Series. A human woman joins the company of Thorin Oakenshield on the quest to Erebor as a mapmaker and finds a lifelong love.</p>
<p>Thorin and his wife welcome their baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then there were three

It was just after dawn on a spring morning when you woke, feeling vaguely that something had awakened you, but you didn’t know what. You turned your head to look at Thorin, lying on his side close to you. His dark hair was draped over his bare shoulder, his breathing slow and deep, and you smiled at the sight of his face, so relaxed and content in sleep. 

Your baby began to stir within you, and you rubbed your belly as if to soothe the child as it kicked and jostled. You had just closed your eyes in an attempt to go back to sleep yourself when you felt it, your eyes fluttering open again. There was a tightening around your abdomen, strong, but not exactly painful, and you lay very still, waiting for the sensation to pass. Finally, the tightness eased, and with a deep breath, you turned onto your side. 

Thorin woke just enough to close the space between you, burrowing his face into your hair, his arm embracing you, his hand splayed gently on your stomach. You had the same strange, constricting feeling again, but your eyelids grew heavy, and before long, sleep had claimed you once more.

After breakfast, Thorin kissed you and took his leave to go to the council. You tried to apply yourself to reading, and then sketching, but you felt restless and fidgety, and at last put on a light cloak and told Bila that you were going for a walk. The fresh air called to you, and you made your way to the Front Gate, receiving friendly greetings and discreet glances at your midsection from everyone you passed. It seemed that all of Erebor eagerly awaited the birth of King Thorin’s heir. 

Outside the Gate, a light breeze stirred your hair, and billowy clouds drifted slowly across the sky as you listened to the babbling of the river and the songbirds serenading the morning. You were enjoying this peaceful scene when you suddenly gasped, and put your hand to your stomach. The tightening had returned, this time accompanied by pain, curling itself around you to reach the muscles of your lower back. When it released you, you exhaled heavily, a bit shaken, and thought it best to go home. 

As you entered your chambers, Bila was standing by the fire with a basket of clean laundry, sprinkling garments with water and smoothing wrinkles out with an iron, heated in the flames. She looked up from her work and eyed you with concern. “Are you feeling well, my lady? Begging your pardon, but you look a bit peaked.” 

“I’m fine,” you smiled, reassuring her. “I’m just going to rest a bit.”

Behind the closed doors of your bedroom, you lay down, but as a comfortable position eluded you, you took to pacing, moving ever more restlessly as the pains became stronger and more frequent. Finally, after a spasm that forced you to hold on to the bedpost for support, you collected yourself and reentered the sitting room. 

“Bila,” you said, keeping your voice even so as not to alarm the girl, “I believe my time has come. I need you to find the King and ask Oin and the Lady Dis to attend me.” 

“Yes, my lady,” she replied, her eyes wide, and she rushed off on her errand.

Thorin was the first to arrive, and he came to your side, looking nervous but resolute. “What can I do to help you, my love?” he asked. 

“Walking makes it a little better,” you answered, slightly breathless. 

“Then I will walk with you.” The two of you soon fell into a rhythm, slowly walking the length of the bedroom and back again as he helped to distract you with airy conversation, stopping for you to lean on him when the pains came. You were thus occupied when Dis and Oin came in, having met each other in the corridor. 

“How do you fare, dear?” Dis asked. 

Just as you opened your mouth to answer, you were gripped with pain once more, and you clutched Thorin, saying, through gritted teeth, “I can manage.” 

“Spoken like a true daughter of Durin,” Dis observed proudly, and Thorin smiled. 

“It looks like things are progressing nicely,” Oin said encouragingly, placing his bag on the table by the fireplace.

As you straightened up again, catching your breath, Bila entered the room. “My lord,” she began timidly, “there’s someone here for you.” 

Balin and Dwalin warily poked their heads in the door, come to usher Thorin out of the birthing room and offer moral support while he waited. “Come along, Thorin,” Balin called, beckoning to him, “she’s in good hands, laddie.” 

Though it was not customary in dwarven or human culture for husbands to attend childbirth, still he left you reluctantly, allowing Dis to take his place beside you, and as you were overcome once again, you saw a last glimpse of his anxious face as his friends whisked him away to stalk the halls outside.

Soon after Thorin’s departure, you took to your bed. Oin sat in a chair, reading and waiting, and Dis stationed herself at your bedside, murmuring words of encouragement, putting cool cloths on your forehead to soothe you, and letting you squeeze her strong hand at the height of the pains. After a particularly sharp pang wrenched a small sob from you, you turned tearfully to your sister-in-law. “Does it always hurt so much?” 

“It does, child,” she smiled sympathetically, “and I would be lying if I told you this is the worst of it. But it will bring your little one to your arms,” she encouraged. “Think on that when it hurts.”

As the hours wore on and Thorin’s name was on your lips like a plea, like a prayer, Dis took matters in hand. “Bila,” she said decisively, “fetch the King. Tell him he is needed here.” The maid, who was gathering blankets at Oin’s bidding, hesitated, surprised. “Now, girl!” Dis barked, and she jumped and scurried from the room. 

“Thank you,” you murmured. 

“Well, he won’t be the first man to see his child born,” Dis said lightly, before muttering, “might do them all good, if you ask me.” 

Thorin, who had not allowed Balin and Dwalin to lead him far away, appeared in the doorway only a few minutes later. He came quickly to sit in the chair Dis vacated, taking your hand. “Oh, my sweet,“ he whispered, his face sorrowful, “if I could suffer in your place, I would gladly do it.” 

“I know,” you smiled wearily. “It will all be worth it in the end.” 

He nodded, fervently pressing your hand to his lips.

Dis leaned over Thorin’s shoulder to place a fresh cloth on your forehead as you bit your lip to stifle a moan. She lay a comforting hand on your cheek. “There’s no shame in crying out, child,” she said gently, “most women do.” 

The pain faded again, but you suddenly found yourself trembling, and you felt a change, a shifting in your body. “I feel strange,” you breathed. 

Dis and Oin exchanged knowing looks, and he lifted the sheet that covered your lower half and gave her a nod. “It is time.” He looked at you with an expression that was kind, but firm. “My dear, you must help the babe into the world.”

With Bila’s help, Dis began to bustle about, readying clean cloths and filling a basin with warm water from the kettle. But at Oin’s words, your strength seemed to fail you completely. “I can’t, Thorin,” you murmured pleadingly, “I can’t. I’m so tired.” 

Clasping your hand, he bent close, resting his forehead against your temple, speaking low into your ear. “You can, amrâlimê,” he urged. “You can do it. Only a little more.” You turned to look into his eyes, and he smiled tenderly, stroking your hair back from your face. “You are strong, and brave…the pride of my Halls. You will be the mother of kings.” 

His words helped you find your lost courage, and with a nod and a squeeze of his hand, you rallied yourself to focus on Oin’s voice, putting all of your energy into following his instructions, until a baby boy was delivered into his hands, crying lustily.

Relief washed over you, your weeping and laughter mingled as you listened to the sweet sound of your baby’s voice. Thorin still held your hand, and tears streamed down his cheeks as he watched his son struggle against Dis’ efforts to clean and swaddle him. 

“A fine, healthy little lad,” she smiled, raising her voice to be heard over the baby’s protests. 

“A son, amrâlimê,” Thorin was saying, his voice hoarse with emotion, “we have a beautiful son.” 

At last, Dis placed the blanket-wrapped bundle in your waiting arms and helped you put the baby to nurse, and his fussing subsided into contented suckling. Thorin crawled onto the bed to sit beside you, his arm around your shoulders, and together you marveled at your child’s perfection…the thatch of dark, downy hair on his head, the delicate shape of his ears that bore witness to his dwarven parentage, the strength of his tiny fingers that curled around Thorin’s large one. You looked at Thorin, exhausted but beaming, and his face was lit with joy as he softly pressed his lips to your forehead, whispering, “thank you, my sweet. Thank you for our son.” 

“What shall we call him?” you asked. “He must have a name.” 

Thorin’s thumb delicately caressed the baby’s hand that gripped his finger. “I have often thought to call a son of mine Frerin,” he ventured, “if you agree?” 

You smiled, knowing what it would mean to him for his child to bear the name of the brother he had loved and lost. “It’s perfect.” You looked lovingly at the baby before nodding at Thorin. “Frerin.” Dis’ eyes were misty as she met Thorin’s glance, and a fond look passed between them.

It was late now, and the flurry of activity surrounding the birth had faded away. Oin had made certain that you and the baby were in good health and left you with a promise to visit the next day to see that all was well. Dis cleared away all the linens and helped you bathe and change into a fresh nightgown, and Bila had started a fire and brought a tray with supper for you and Thorin, which you’d eaten ravenously. Messengers had been dispatched throughout Erebor and to the Iron Hills to announce the birth of Frerin, son of Thorin. 

Tomorrow, there would be visitors and gifts and well-wishes, but tonight, there was only your new family. You and Thorin reclined on a stack of pillows against the headboard of your bed, little Frerin cuddled securely to his father’s chest and your head resting on Thorin’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe that he’s ours, that we made him,” you said quietly, laying your hand softly on the sleeping baby. 

Thorin smiled, placing a kiss on the top of your head before returning his gaze to his son, his strong hand stroking the baby’s back with the most tender gentleness. “It was only a few years ago that I believed I would live out my days alone, with Fili as my heir,” he mused, “and now I have both of you.” 

“And all because Gandalf insisted that a mapmaker would be a valuable addition to the company,” you grinned, and he chuckled softly, leaning to kiss your lips. 

“Tomorrow,” he murmured, touching his forehead to yours, “I should send the wizard a cask of our best red wine.”


End file.
